Our daughter disowned us, calling herself an orphan in front of her fiancé
Our lives were turned upside down recently, and the pain of this betrayal still tears at my heart. Our only daughter, Emily, secretly got married and lied to her husband and his family, claiming she was an orphan. My husband and I are alive and well—we never gave her any reason to treat us so cruelly.
My husband, William, and I are hardworking people from a small village near Manchester. I work as a nurse at the local clinic, he’s a mechanic at a timber yard. We’re not wealthy, but for Emily, we would have moved mountains. She was our only child, our pride, and we spoiled her as best we could, giving her everything we had.
From childhood, Emily dreamed of city life. Whenever we visited relatives in Birmingham, she begged us to let her stay. She believed happiness and success were only possible there. We didn’t argue—we wanted her to be content. When it was time for university, Emily insisted on studying in Birmingham. Her grades weren’t good enough for a scholarship, so we sold my parents’ house to pay her tuition and rent. We did it for her dreams, even though we stayed in the village, keeping our little home running.
Emily left to conquer the city, while we remained in our quiet corner. In five years, she visited us only twice. We made the trips ourselves, bringing homemade jams and what little money we could spare, but each time, she greeted us with coldness. As if she was ashamed of us—our plain clothes, our countryside accents. She shared a flat with classmates, and they treated us warmer than our own daughter did. The calls grew fewer until we gave her space, thinking she’d tell us if something important happened.
But we learned about her wedding from strangers. A neighbour whose son studies in Birmingham called to say she’d seen Emily in a wedding dress. We couldn’t believe it. Maybe a mistake, a cruel joke. But the truth was worse. How could she do this to us? I called her, choking back tears, and demanded an explanation. Emily didn’t deny it. In a voice like ice, she told me about her husband, then added, “I won’t introduce you to them.”
The ground dropped beneath me. “Why?” I whispered. Her answer was a knife to the heart: “His parents are wealthy, educated people—you wouldn’t fit in. I told them I was an orphan, that I had no family. Don’t blame me! I couldn’t admit my father fixes tractors and my mother gives farm animals injections. You humiliated me enough when you showed up at uni with jars of pickles. It’s over!”
William heard this, silently pulled out an old photo of Emily, crumpled it in his fist, and walked out to the porch. I saw his shoulders shake, watched him reach for a cigarette—even though he quit a decade ago. As for me… I still haven’t recovered. Every day, I take pills to calm myself, but the pain doesn’t fade. What did we do to deserve this from our own daughter?
We gave her everything—love, money, dreams. And she disowned us like we were a stain on her new “city” life. How do you go on, knowing your own child is ashamed of you? What would you do in our place? How do you survive such betrayal?
